Tey Do Fin Dovahkiin
by rook417
Summary: The Tales of the Dragonborn - A collection of one-shots revolving around some of the most notable residents of Skyrim as well as the Dragonborn himself...
1. Chapter 1  First Impressions

Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, for that belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

PLEASE READ A/N: This only something I did for the heck of it. In no way these oneshots are in order with some exceptions. Only a few of these oneshots are based on in game events (or rather events that happened in my play session). This could be considered a LydiaXDragonborn, but it will be pretty light in most cases for this is my first fanfic…*cough*hint*hint*review*cough*. I also will be try to be lore friendly as possible (there will be some artistic liberties and references, specifically gear wise, however), but if you spot any error, grammar or story wise, be sure to point that out too. I'll leave my Dragonborn nameless (maybe for a bit) so I won't interpose on your depiction of Dovahkiin (Don't ask, I just have this odd pet peeve of the nameless being named. Not that it's wrong or anything…but still). Well enough of my rant. Enjoy!

**First Impressions**

It all started on what seemed to be a routine, if not, bland day. It would've stayed that way if it wasn't for the honest to gods DRAGON that chose to attack the Western Watchtower thus leaving the whole town of Whiterun and its guards (Lydia included) jitterier than a Khajit going through skooma withdrawal. Fortunately, Whiterun was untouched; the only signs of the supposed mythological beast were the trails of smoke coming from the ruins of the Watchtower.

Lydia, as well as most of the other guards, would've simply dismissed the attack as an organized bandit raid, but any idea to do so was quickly erased by a roaring, thunderous explosion that would have seen to be originated from the mountains. As quickly as the old rumors were died out, new ones sprung in place, being whispered to and fro across the town like wildfire.

"By Ysmir…What was that?"

"Was that the Graybeards? It sounded like it came from High Hrothgar."

"The Graybeards? After all this time? Who could those old fools be calling for now?"

"Dragonborn?"

"Nonsense, the last of the Dragonborn died before the Fourth Era and it was the Septims no less!"

Lydia only lightly shook her head in bewilderment as she made her way into Dragonsreach, swinging open the massive doors that made the entrance. Sitting down at the long, dining tables, she gave out a gentle sigh of relief, grateful to be able to tuck into a hot meal after a long day of training and being on the lookout for a mythical, overgrown, fire breathing lizard. Glancing over at Jarl of Whiterun, after taking a bite of her salmon steak, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at sight of the newcomer that was speaking to Balgruuf, the mentioned Jarl.

The stranger was obviously a traveler or an adventurer of sorts, indicated by the grey hooded robe that were covered with straps and buckles that held a leather spaulder on his right shoulder but steel plates on his left. A raw wolf pelt, cut and sewed, was wrapped around his upper, left chest like a scarf, barely covering the aforementioned steel plates. A red, woolen sash was wrapped his waist, also held in place by the leather harness. What seemed to be an apothecary's satchel was slung over his shoulder, running parallel with the strap that held his right shoulder pad in place. Steel gauntlets of Nordic design adorned his arms and well fitted, but mud ridden, hide boots protected his legs. Whoever he was, he was no stranger to combat as indicated by the steel sword and daggers belted to his hip as well as the hunting bow that was slung alongside a quiver, fully stocked of arrows.

She paid little heed to the conversation between the newcomer and the Jarl hearing a few words like Dragonborn and Graybeards. Nonetheless, she still dismissed it as rumors (or "Jarl Business" as some of the guards may put it), opting to finish the rest of her meal in blissful silence. Her restful chewing was short lived; however, as soon her ears caught the words:

"By my right as Jarl of Whiterun, I proclaim you Thane of Whiterun. It is the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia, as your Housecarl…"

Lydia at this point had dropped her fork, nearly choking whatever food stuff that was in her mouth at the time. She glanced over at the newly proclaimed Thane, surprised to see that his face of disbelief and confusion mirroring her own. Jarl Balgruuf continued on.

"…And a weapon from my personal armory as your badge of office. I'll also notify the guards…"

Lydia's ears by now had blocked out the Jarl, full attention on her new charge as well as boss. Her shock turned into silent, brief mirth as the new Thane held the heavy, two-hander Axe of Whiterun with some visible discomfort, an obvious sign that he was not trained in the use of heavy weapons. Nonetheless, he gave a small, appreciative nod to Balgruuf, silently dismissing himself as he slung the large axe alongside with his quiver and bow.

Lydia's humor was short lived as her thoughts of having such a weakling of a Thane turned into worry as she was somewhat perturbed at the fact that she was the one who had to be at the said weakling's beck and call. Quietly praying to the Nine (or was it Eight?), that her charge was not one of the snobbish mages like Farengar and the High Elves she had encountered over the years, who saw those uneducated in the arts of the arcane (or at least was not one of them) beneath them, or a sniveling thief who happened to be in good fortune of the situation.

Her prayers were answered in the form of a tap to the shoulder, springing her from her mental maelstrom. She jumped, surprised on how easy she did not hear the person coming, despite of the hard wood floors that made Dragonsreach. She spun around, hand flying to the handle of her sword, only to be greeted at the sight of her new Thane, who was wearing a face that held the expression (for lack of a better word) "uhhhhhh", as well as having a hand up, finger pointing out, still in the position to tap her shoulder.

However his hood was down, allowing Lydia to have a better view of his face. At a first glance, she would have mistaken him as an Imperial, but he had a slight slant to his brown eyes, giving them a unique, almond shape. Despite of them being "slanted", they had an open, youthful look in them, similar to that of a curious scholar. His black hair was cut short, but was oddly spiked up with only a few bangs falling forward, touching his forehead. Overall, he was clean-shaven, looking no older but perhaps younger than Lydia herself. He was a man, no doubt, but which one? His appearance reminded Lydia of some outside race that tried to invade Tamriel thousands of years ago. What was their name again? Akavar? Akavia?

But if his mysterious origin was not enough to baffle Lydia, it would have been his voice that did the trick.

"Ummm…Lydia, is it? You're my Housecarl, right?"

Despite of the simplicity of his questions, it was his accent that (much to his amusement) made Lydia's eyes bug out larger than her shield. It wasn't that his accent was exotic like the Khajit or had the distinct pitch of a Mer race, but it was rather how Nord it sounded.

Bowing her head out of courtesy after covering her shock, she answered.

"Yes, my Thane. It is an honor to serve you."

He nodded, apparently satisfied with her reply. He moved on, asking questions about his title of Thane and her duties as Housecarl. She answered, trying her best to keep her distaste on his ignorance of such facts out of her statements. She must've failed, for by the end of his questioning, one of his eyebrows were raised, giving her a light, questioning look.

The look was gone however, when he made his way towards the doors; only slight nodding his head towards the doors to follow him. She obeyed, following her boss down the stairs from Dragonsreach. It was by the time they got to the Whiterun's entrance that she asked where they were going. Whoever this man was, he seemingly possessed a good store of surprises, granting her another one as his answer.

"High Hrothgar."


	2. Chapter 2 The Hood

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series.

A/N: To clear up any confusion, my Dragonborn is referred to as Recruit, new blood, or whelp in the viewpoints of the Companions. He is still the same person from the previous chapter just to let you know. Speaking of Companions, this one-shot will have a slight spoiler regarding the questline, so read with caution if you would like to keep the surprise. Sorry for any minor OOCness from Farkas, but he was the only one of the Companions I could think of that would do this sort of thing.

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><p><strong>The Hood<strong>

"_I'm going to kill Farkas." _thought Vilkas as he narrowly dodged a sword point to the ribs. "_That is, this whelp doesn't kill me first."_ he continued, parrying the second blow and proceeding to bash the said recruit. His venture was fruitless, for the Recruit had just jumped out of range just in time.

"_Why did I even agree to his stupid little prank? Aren't I supposed to be the smart one? Someone must have slipped a bit of Skooma in my mead last night. "_

It all started last night, just a week after Farkas and the new blood came back from Dustman's Cairn, with a fragment of Wuuthrad in hand, also the same day the boy was officially inducted into the Companions. Even if it was only for a few days, the young man became a little brother of sorts in their family. As anyone can see, he was treated like any other little sibling throughout the world. Said treatments counting being picked on and being the most abused when it came to training.

However, one of the few traits that they noticed of their youngest shield-sibling was that he was always seen wearing a hood, even indoors. This apparently irked Farkas to some extent, who for the past few days was trying to remove said hood, only to have his plans fail or backfire to the others' amusement. An opportune moment came when Farkas and Vilkas was walking past the living quarters of Jorrvaskr, only to stop at the sound of snoring. The brothers went to investigate (for they knew little to no one that snored like THAT), finding the source to be the young rookie himself, sprawled sideways on his cot, still in his hooded robes, surrounded by empty potion bottles of healing and magicka, with Aela looking on with signs of mirth on her face.

According to Aela, the young man had just come back from dealing with a cave full of bears, which was not too far from Ivarstead. He was successful, but not without injury, as evidenced by the mess around him at the moment. Farkas, however, took the time to remove the new blood's clothes with help from Vilkas, then went running off, leaving a confused Aela and a (still sleeping) topless Companion (much to the woman's entertainment).

But as if stealing a man's warm clothes was not cruel enough, waking him up before sunrise to train in the chilly Skyrim mornings was most certainly evil. Farkas took the personal responsibility of kicking the whelp awake, being greeted by the most bewildered look and the expected question on the whereabouts of the hood robes. Farkas's grin must have given him away, as the confused look turn into a questioning glare that looked like it was ready to break a Skyforge Steel sword as if it was made of twigs.

Farkas was quick to divert the young man's cold fury, letting slip that Vilkas was the culprit. The Companion quickly rose out of bed, marching out in the direction of the training area only stopping to retrieve a spare studded cuirass and a an iron banded shield. Farkas was confused;

"_A shield? But I thought he never liked shields. Always was going on how they were too heavy and bulky when questioned."_

Farkas's question was answered when Vilkas's and the Recruit's sparring match began. At first the young man just stood still, only staring at and flipping his shield over and over, even when Vilkas advanced, sword out. His silence was broken, when Vilkas got in range, just in position to strike at his neck. He looked up, his warm, brown eyes now a cold visage of silent fury, and without warning, tossed his shield like a discus (Frisbee) at Vilkas's head.

Vilkas had brought his shield arm just in time, knocking the spinning metal away, only to be greeted at sight of his opponent, now with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, charging at full speed. Vilkas had barely any time to react, taking the full brunt of the attack with shield. Even with his lycanthropy, his arm began to shudder under the weight. Speaking of werewolves, Vilkas came to a somewhat, shocking revelation. A hoodless Recruit is a pissed off Recruit. And if said Recruit was pissed off, chances are he could kill a werewolf… with his bare hands. Which was happening right now, as Vilkas, now disarmed and on the ground, was being violently throttled, and questioned, "_No wait, interrogated",_ on the whereabouts of a certain hooded robe…

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><p>MOAR AN: Sorry for the shortness but its Christmas Eve (kinda working on a Seasonal oriented oneshot at the moment as a gift for you guys)? Also apologies any minor OOCness from Farkas, but he was the only one of the Companions I could think of that would do this sort of thing. :P Anyway Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!


	3. Chapter 3 Festivities

Disclaimer: I don't own the Elder Scrolls. Otherwise, I would be blind and would be babbling about prophercies.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, this is WAY past Christmas, but at least it's the thought that counts right? Very sorry for the delay but finally I found some free time not dedicated to playing Skyrim :P (finally got around to beating the main storyline, man those side quests are DISTRACTING). And much thanks to the reviews, I really appreciate them!

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><p><strong>Festivities<strong>

The Dragonborn was not having a good day. For him, Thane of Whiterun, rumored dragon-slayer, and the newest member of the Companions, was about to be unceremoniously crushed by a giant's club. Previously before, the day was supposed to be an uneventful hunting trip, a good time to train on one's archery skills and get some food in before the harvest was over and the annual holidays started. Of course, the hunting trip quickly turned into one of exploration and reconnaissance when the fellow spotted some oddly painted boulders. The boulders turned out to mark a large camp, featuring an even larger, albeit sleeping giant, with remains of a (to scaled) campfire right next to it.

Unfortunately, the Dragonborn in particular had an odd habit of taking valuable objects that happen to be out in the wilderness whenever he was low on funds. Especially if the said objects already belonged to someone else. Which in this case, was a golden circlet encrusted with flawless jewels, that happened to be in the possession of said sleeping giant. What was worse was that the New Life holidays were coming, a time when everyone would give and share gifts to one another. Having spent most of his fortune on buying and renovating Breezehome, he was hard press to purchase anything of value, resorting to running around the town, asking and doing favors for the people. Although it wasn't that much big of a deal, it would just make him look and feel bad, to having to accept gifts but not give something in return, but not as a Thane, but as a person overall.

But if the fancy tiara was not tempting enough, the pile of mammoth bones was what did him in. Speaking of the odd jobs from before, the lad had promised Ysolda to help start her merchant business by finding and retrieving a tusk in exchange for (much needed) haggling lessons.

Nabbing the circlet was easy enough, the jeweled crown being little more than a small ring in a pile of junk, next to the giant that slept by. The tusks were a different story entirely, being a good meter long. Frowning on how in Oblivion he was going to lug them back quietly, his eyes scanned the camp, finally settling on a tarp of leather. Wrapping the tusks up, he couldn't help but smile at the idea on how this all managed to go off without a hitch.

He smiled too soon.

As soon as he took the first step out in the direction of the town, his boot struck a stray bone, buried and forgotten long ago by the camp's occupant and overlooked by the unfortunate adventurer. Time seemed to slow as the tusks flew from his hands, landing on the ground with a (wincing) clatter.

The giant stood upright, immediately staring down at the ill-gotten wanderer (that had recently face planted into the dirt) with enough fury to make a flame atronach blush. Said adventurer stared back, eyes bugged out in fear, for he knew what was coming next. The giant gave out a fierce roar, one accompanied by a club swinging over and over his head. Pushing himself off the ground, the Dovahkiin took off, stopping only to scoop up a stray tusk, barely missing the over-sized bludgeon aimed at his (comparatively tiny) head.

He ran as fast as he could, putting out extra bursts of speed every time he heard the thundering footfalls of his pursuer get closer. Even though he was in good shape, his lungs and thighs screamed in protest, causing him to slow down.

Feeling his adrenaline dissipate to prevent internal damage to his body, even at sign of danger, he felt his body collapse. He had taxed himself too heavy, running nonstop, leaping and weaving through the rocks in an attempt to lose or at least slow the giant, until Whiterun was in sight. The giant didn't even let up, however, looking like he was _speeding up _instead.

Searching his pockets and pouches frantically for anything he could use while mentally cursing himself for not buying a horse, he gave himself a mental smack to the forehead. Why the Nine Divines did he not _Shout_? It had only been a few weeks since his journey to High Hrothgar and his tasking to find some old horn artifact to prove his worth. Then againhe doubted his _Unrelenting Force_ shout was strong enough to deal with something as big as a giant._ Whirlwind Sprint _wouldn't have matter, for he was only able to go a few yards worth with it at the moment.

Salvation came as his fingers wrapped around a small bottle, filled with a green, virulent looking liquid. He grimaced, for this particular stamina potion was made by him, when he visited a local alchemist store. He was by no right a professional when it came to making potions, for this one wasn't as effective nor did it taste good compared to the ones Arcadia brewed, but at least they gotten the job done. Somewhat.

The giant drew closer, adding to the anxiety, as he tried to uncork the bottle with shaking hands. Growling in frustration, he brought the bottle up to his mouth, uncorking and spitting out the stopper with his teeth. He almost hesitated at the stinky fume that assaulted his nose, but at the sight of the giant's club, he quickly downed the liquid as a thirsty Nord would drink mead.

Feeling the burn in his legs recede and his lungs now restored with air, he felt a new wave of adrenaline overrode his body, rolling it out of the way just in time to miss the over-sized piece of wood by several inches. Fortunately the club had dug deep into the ground, digging in from the combined force and impact of the weapon, forcing the giant to stop and try to pull it out, sparing the thieving rogue enough time to get away…

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><p>Lydia, (with more irony than at Warmaiden's) was bored. Of course, life of a Housecarl to the Thane of Whiterun was always mundane whenever she didn't come along with her charge. But it was not usually on a day like this. It was just the eve before the first of Morning Star, just hours away from midnight, the official beginning of the New Life Festival. Usually during her earlier years, Lydia would always feel a tad giddy or at least lighter, a result of anticipation to the celebration. After all what other holiday involved the passing of gifts…and free drinks at the bars and inns. She may be a Nord through and through, didn't mean she didn't act like a woman from time to time.<p>

Lydia couldn't help but smile a bit at the warmer memories when she was a child, so anticipating at the presents she would receive, the way the decorations around town would always dazzle her, the way her family and friends would react when she would give them their gifts, or all those grand stories and ancient legends that would be passed around the fireplace.

Signing as past caught up to present, she could only grimace at the acknowledgement that she would be unable to have any more cozy memories to look back on or share with anyone. Her family was all but dead, with exception to the odd cousin or two. Her friends had moved on, spread out far that contact with one another was nigh impossible. She was all grown up now, the only present she would probably ever receive this time was a free cup of ale to herself. Sighing as she got up from the dinner table, she made her way to her room. Changing into her night clothes and slipping into the bed, Lydia then remembered the way her younger self would be wide awake, too excited for the morning when she would tear down to the main room, hyped up at the very idea of presents.

Lydia, despite of her role as a fighter, secretly took in the fond memories, for they were a better sleep aid than any potion in Nirn. She couldn't blame herself, for even with her natural affinity to the cold, she always felt freezing whenever on nights like this. Nights when she could never sleep, not because of anticipation, but rather on nights when she was by herself. Alone.

Going through her memories like a scholar would study a tome before an exam, she finally felt the tug of sleep at the edge of her consciousness. But before she could drift away, her ears perked up at the slight creaking of the wooden floorboards, her hand automatically going for the dagger she kept at her bedside. She relaxed, as the heavy footfalls followed by the clanging of weapons and arms being discarded to the ground was a signal that the Thane had finally returned, no doubt exhausted, as evidenced by his lack of effort to move quietly up the stairs. However, she held her breath when she heard the door to HER room open.

"_What in Oblivion? He either must be that tired or had a little_ _too much to drink!"_ she thought quietly, quite unsure what to do with a possibly, intoxicated Thane.

Instead her fears abated as she heard her charge shuffle more quietly over to her nightstand, actually being more careful to not wake the supposedly sleeping Housecarl. She couldn't only guess what purpose her master was doing in her room, for her back was facing him, until she heard a subtle clink of something small but heavy landing on her dresser table. And as quickly and quietly as he entered, he left, shutting close the door behind him.

Lydia, now tired at the clenching and nervousness, felt the pull of sleep return, albeit confused on how her last memory before drifting to slumber was that of a myth, on how a certain Saint or Priest would travel the around the world in one night, secretly placing gifts to all those that deserved them…

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><p>The next morning, Lydia felt more energized than usual mixed an odd feeling she had not felt for some time. Recounting the night's events, her eyes quickly looked over to the bed stand, eyebrows shooting up. Sitting on top of the table was a golden circlet, inlaid with a flawless diamond in the center with two rubies flanking it. Gently picking it up, Lydia felt the warmth and flow of energy that flowed through her body, an obvious sign of an enchantment of sort. Looking closely, she noticed that the jewelry was recently polished giving it an eye catching shine.<p>

Smiling in what would have been the first in years, she finally came to realize that odd feeling she had when she woke up. Joy.

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><p>AN: Not really sure about this one-shot, since I finished it late night, so I could be drabbling for all I know. But then again, I could always update later. Untill then!


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